


Headlock

by DarthFucamus



Series: Headlock [1]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Gunnar Nelson, Less than 1000 words, Wrestling, bad words, boob grab, getting thrown in a ditch, headlock, imagine, sexy wrestling?? maybe??, triangle leg lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 11:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11184270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthFucamus/pseuds/DarthFucamus
Summary: Prompt from Tumblr:"Imagine turning around in Lucas’ birthday puzzle room quick enough to sprint at him before he shuts the door and knock him down to the ground. Even if you couldn’t knock him over you’d still be scrapping with each other as he tries to shove you back into the room."





	Headlock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kittenmoon21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenmoon21/gifts).



His eyes flashed, wild in the fluorescent light the split second before you took him down. You’d caught him off guard, and you weren’t going to lose that advantage. Your momentum carried him down to the floor under you. Straddling him, you could feel his bony hips through his khakis.  His hands caught one of your wrists, but wasn’t fast enough to stop the other.

You slapped him, letting out a HAH of triumph before the murderous look on his gaunt face killed your elation.

“Ya dumb bitch, yer s’posed to be in there-” he snarled, using his strength to wrestle you off of him, presumably so that he could reverse your positions.

He was fucking strong, but you had years of high school and college wrestling under your belt, not to mention pipe dreams of MMA fighting. Your hero was the fighter, Gunnar Nelson, and you tried to channel the proffessional badass’s cool sense of control against your captor.

Instead of fighting against Lucas’s attempts, you threw yourself to the side and on your back intentionally, using his strength against him. He overshot his mark and instead of pinning you, he rolled past and skidded.

When the lanky motherfucker was trying to regain his bearings, you slid on the gritty concrete floor behind him.  
You locked your arm around his neck, jamming his head into your forearm with the other hand, immediately cutting off his air and the blood supply to his brain.

You caught his waist in a triangle leg lock, (knee bent across his waist, opposite foot hooked under your calf), and now you had the upper hand despite being at his back.

He spared half a second trying to pry your arm off his neck (hard enough to leave bruises) before he gave up on that. He rolled to the side with a choked noise you weren’t sure was meant to be a laugh or a snarl, and hit your back hard against the wall. The wind knocked out of you, your grip slipped for only a second, long enough.

Now Lucas squirmed around to face you, his eyes manic, brows pinched, mouth a tight line, chin jutting forward with the intensity of his focus.

He used his superior reach to gather you beneath him.

You rammed your knee into his back the second he was straddling you, slapped and clawed at his hands as they scrambled to pin your wrists. He didn’t look like he was playing anymore, like he was starting to see how much trouble you were.

You hooked an arm around his neck before he could stop you and forced it down at an odd angle under your arm. You pinned him there with your other hand, rolling to the side. He was breathing hard, now, thin chest panting through his hoodie as he tried to break free from your new headlock with a string of barely understandable curses.

Instead of trying to pry you off of him, one large, long-fingered hand tried to push your body away. He got a handful of tit instead and squeezed. You bucked and rammed a knee into his groin as hard as you could and then he locked his thighs around yours tight. You lost your grip on his neck, as sweaty as it was, and he slipped it out, fighting your hands down again. This time you couldn’t stop him.

You both were breathing loud and harsh, open-mouthed gasping together for your exertion as he subdued you. His sunken eyes glittered, wide open. You arched your back beneath him, lacking the ability to move anything else. Doing so squashed your breasts up against his chest. Counter to any kind of logic, you let slip a tiny moan when they pressed against his lean, sinewy body.

There was maybe half a beat when neither of you did anything, yourself frozen in the realization of what you did, him looking as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” he demanded, incredulity on his gaunt face. “Are you gettin’ off on this?”

You bit your lip, your face flashing hot when you considered that it was possible, even as tense and scared as you were, or should have been.

“You fuckin’ are,” he said with a curl to his lip that wasn’t quite disgust. The shift into a laschivious grin was fast enough that it almost startled you. “Goddamn pervert. Well I ain’t got no interest in torturin’ someone who enjoys it more'n me.”

WIthout another word, he cracked his head against yours and everything went dark.

\----------

Next thing you know, you're laying facedown in a ditch beside a tree-lined highway, filthy and covered in mud with a splitting headache and no recollection of how you got there.

You wait until you’re physically able to move before you push yourself to your feet. That’s when you notice the folded piece of paper stuffed into your bra. You pull it out and unfold it.

‘Call me if you wanna fuck. don’t bother giving it to the pigs its untraceable’

Beneath, in messy handwriting is a phone number.

you tuck it away for later.

**Author's Note:**

> Gunnar Nelson RULZ


End file.
